FAIR WARNING THIS IS FICTION, and ADULT Themed. NAUGHTY WORDS AHEAD. NOT my usual garden stuff. Nor photography. ADULT fiction.
PLEASE take a moment and catch up!
PART ONE: Ocean Dreams: Part 1: Heart Ripped Assunder
PART TWO: Ocean Dreams: Part 2: Picking Myself Off The Deck
PART THREE: Ocean Dreams: Part 3: A Mystery To Me
PART FOUR: Ocean Dreams Part 4: Can We Talk?
PART FIVE: Ocean Dreams Part 5: My Own Marina
From the end of Part 5
“Deal. Partner. Boat Mate. Friend. “ We shook hands, and Blue, her cat, face planted into my face, again… adding his two cents…
“My real name, is Marina. Ironic huh?”
“And I’m Greg. I’m a mess”
So, here we were, two broken, and introverted people. Each, dealing in our own way with people closest to us, who hurt us, beyond comprehension. She was physically, and emotionally abused. I? Cheated on. Utterly destroyed by the one person I trusted most.
Cheating partners hurt. Not just because they cheat, but, because the betray the deepest trust anyone can give another. My wife, soon to be ex, had not only decided NOT to confide in me, not to trust me with her innermost doubts and depression, but she turned to someone else.
Her body, her choice? Of course! She slept with someone else. Again, her choice. However, choices come with consequences. If she wants to share herself with someone else, that’s her choice. My choice, is also my own!
The body I thought was mine alone, wasn’t. I do not share. If she wants to betray that trust, my choice is simple: I leave.
I do not need to hear excuses. Nor rationalizations. None of it matters. Again, not ego, if she wants to share herself, fine. But my best friend? My wife? My life partner? I can only trust someone as wife, partner and best friend, if they too, give themselves to me, and me exclusively.
LAST thing I wanted or needed to hear right now, was the tired old tropes that a cheating spouse utters: It’s only sex. It didn’t mean anything. I don’t love him, I only love you. It was something I needed, and now, I am over it. It happened. Let’s move on...
I AM moving on.
As far as it being “only sex. It didn’t mean anything!” it meant EVERYTHING to me.
Love. It meant, loving you, and finding that you do not love me enough, to respect me. It meant, you needed something I could no longer give you, and turned to someone else. Move on? For how long? How long until you need something ELSE, and turn to someone ELSE?
And it’s not ego. It’s broken trust that hurts. A relationship is this simple: Based on three pillars, Trust. Respect. Love. All three are needed for a bond for life. Break one, and there is rarely a way back. No, definitely not a way back, for me.
Trust
Funny thing, until I stumbled completely by accident on the photos of her betrayal, I had unconditionally loved, trusted and respected her. All that got me was heartbreak, shattered, broken.
When you love someone, that deeply, and trust someone, that intensely, you don’t see flaws. You see confirmation bias. Every day, her actions confirmed what I thought. I saw her hurting, then get better. I knew she loved me and trusted me. I knew she would turn to me, when she needed me.
Oh, I asked, many times. She always told me, ‘I’m just down. Just a bit sad with the kids leaving the nest. Give me time.” And like a fool, I did.
Respect
After seeing those photos, showing her smiling, and dripping. Immediately after they had fucked, I was done in. The thought that he was giving her something I never could devastated me. I would always be a cuckold from this moment in time. I could never stay with her. She’d lost all respect for me, would never again respect me, especially if I stayed. Knowing that I know, now.
Love
This one, perhaps the most difficult. The heart is not a faucet. Not a switch that someone can shut on or off. It takes time to fall in love. It also takes time to fall out of love. And every day, going forward, I was falling out of love a little bit more. I probably would always have a little love for her, in my heart. She'd given me two children.
Trust was shattered. I had none left for her. She no longer respected me. That much was true. Now, it was a matter of letting the love go. Slowly, over time, I am sure my torn heart would recover… or not. But for now, I would go forward, with a dark heart, slowly recovering, or simply slipping away.
Marina and I were moving forward in our lives. Sailing on to new waters. New Adventures. Maybe we’d heal together. Maybe we would heal apart, and simply be friends, but for now, we were moving forward, each day, sailing closer to whole. Further from broken.
